


Peyote... Coyote... Pay-oat. Cai-oat.

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: AU, AU??, Alternate Universe - Magic, Animals, Don't Eat The Cacti, Drug Addiction, Fish Michael Is Weirdly Adorable, Hallucinations, Hallucinations Turned Reality, Michael Being an Idiot, Michael Gets Addicted, Michael is a Little Shit, Only If He's High, Peyote Addiction, Peyote Plants, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, Talking Animals, Trevor Can Talk To Animals, Which He's High All The Time, drugs?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In the enhanced versions of GTAV (PS4, XBOX1, etc...), there are these new "collectibles". They are Peyote Plants. Here, Michael gets a little addicted and falls in love with every experience, like some naive teenage girl. It's- It's pathetic, really.





	Peyote... Coyote... Pay-oat. Cai-oat.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is like a thing to test the waters?? if anyone likes it, i may muster up the motivation to continue with it

It was hot as fuck. It was windy as fuck. Why the hell had he agreed to even come up here in the first place? Oh, yeeeah. 'Cause Michael got all butthurt when he said he was busy. Good God. Every single time Michael called to _hang out._ Every. Time. 'Hey, T, what's goin' on? Hey, I'm bored, wanna do somethin'?'. Nine out of ten times, his response was this- reasonable as all hell. 'Uh, aren't we _working_ , genius?' And every time, Michael never fails to apologize in the most butthurt way. It got to Trevor after a while. Unfortunately. It nagged and nagged. After ten years, the fat sop finally wanted to see him. He wanted to see him and be with him sooooo bad, too. He could sense it. The fucker wanted to be around him. Trevor couldn't keep saying no after a while. Partially out of pity, but mostly out of his own painful desire for things to be the way they had been.

Michael's childlike cry of awe brought him back to reality, and he looked up, sliding his tongue across a stale rip in his lip. He watched Michael's eyes light up, his crescent moon eyebrows springing at the sight of the whole world in front of him. His tattered lips couldn't help but twitch their way into a reminiscent smile. Michael used to look that way, everytime they stumbled upon a possible score. He loved it. He loved it all. The world seemed to be at their feet back then. Things had been so fucking easy. So fucking perfect. Michael had to go and ruin it all like the sad fucking turd he was.

Trevor sauntered up beside Michael, stretching his arms wide as he yawned. "Yep. Just another day in paradise, my friend. Don'tcha wish you had come out sooner?" Yeah... Come out and fucking looked for him. Fuck! They had been hours away this whole fucking time. Not lifetimes away, like Tre-... like they _both_ had believed.

Michael gave him that look. Yeah, the narrowed eyes and tight lipped frown look. It screamed 'fuck you'. At least the fucker knew what he was on about. Then again, he always knew. He stepped back, giving him an innocent shrug as Michael looked past him. 

"Woah, T, what's that?" He pointed, brows furrowing.

Trevor looked to where his finger lead him, and shrugged again. "It's just a fucking cactus. They're all over the place." He hummed, deep and gravelly. "Don't tell me you're interested in fuckin' flowers, now, Mikey. Is that your fucking hobby, now? Aside from being sad and fat?"

"Shut up, I ain't seen one like it yet." Michael approached the thing, kneeling down on faded denim to get a closer look. He pulled a chunk off of it. Trevor sighed, obnoxiously, of course.

. . .

It was smooth. What kinda fucking cactus didn't have pricks? Michael lifted it towards the sun, to get a better look. Wow, it smelt... Good. Without thinking, he popped it in his mouth, and chewed. He heard Trevor stall like an engine with a startled 'uh'. Woah. Shit. Trevor's voice echoed between his ears, bouncing back and forth as the world around him began to fuzz. "Woah, T..." He muttered, voice breaking as he took to standing on jello legs. His head was as light as air. The caw of crows filled his empty mind... And BAM. He was out like a light.

. . .

Trevor screamed in despair, anyone on the cap of the mountain behind him scattered like cockroaches at the animalistic sound. "MIKEY, DON'T YOU DIE ON ME!!!" 

He fell to his knees, reaching out to cradle Michael's bleeding head. Suddenly, it was out of reach, and a burst of blue light knocked him back. "WHAT THE FUCK!?" He roared, scrambling to his feet, ready to fight mother nature her-fucking-self.

Suddenly, the world was quiet. The blue figure he glared at hardly stood a foot tall. It was glowing, but only for a moment. In Michael's place, stood a... a...

. . . 

A BIRD!? HE WAS A FUCKING BIRD!? Michael squawked, hopping back at the sight of his pointy shadow. He released a few awful sounds, flapping his black wings. Anything to- Wait. Wait! He stopped suddenly, tilting his head this way and that. He was a bird. A motherfucking bird. He had wings! That meant... He could fly!! He immediately took off, leaving behind a screaming creature he hadn't dared to look at. Michael flapped away, cawing as he dove down the mountain side. 

Holy fuck!

"I can fly! I can fuckin' fly!! Fuckin-A!!! I'm awesome! Holy- Woah- Woah!!!" Michael chortled, swooping alongside the trails. Oh, it felt so natural. He wanted... He wanted food for one. Wow, this was so amazing!

"I'm so fuckin' awesome, I can fly! Stupid humans! You suck! Ha Ha!" He dive-bombed a nearby woman, and without thinking, spread his little bird legs and shat right on her head. 

Michael cackled in shock and cruelty, turning back towards the mountain. Hell yeah!!

A distant scream caught his attention.

"MICHAELLLL!!!"

Michael. Who... Who was Michael?... Oh! _He_ was Michael.

"Me. I am. I am Michael. Michael is... Me. I am a bird. Bird Michael. Michael the bird. That's my name." Michael murmured, unconciously flapping towards the call. He pin pointed the sound of his name, and landed on it. "Ha. Landed on my name. Woah, my name is ugly. Holy shit. Michael is ugly." He tilted his head.  
"Wait. I am Michael-" He squawked at the harsh hands batting him away.

"GET THE FUCK OFF MY HEAD, MICHAEL! I AM NOT AS UGLY AS I COULD BE, YA WANT ME TO BE UGLY? HUH!? BECAUSE I FUCKING CAN BE!" The creature roared, and ugly, angry roar.

"No! Don't be ugly! I am afraid of the ugly!" He cawed, flapping a few feet away to land on a red bannered post.

"WELL YOU ARE RIGHTLY SO." It roared once more, stalking towards him with a scary finger aimed for his little head. 

Worm. "Is that worm? Worm? Is that you?" He asked, head swiveling to get a better look. His mouth watered. Wooorrrmmm. "Worms are food. Food is worm. I am learning." Thinking was so simple! Ah! He loved it! 

The creature released a horrible shrill cry as he pecked the worm. It tried to get away. He flapped his wings, following the flailing food.

Michael shrieked as he was pounded against the ground, releasing the angry worm. "Ow! Fuckin- Fuck you, worm! Fuck! You! I should shit on you!" He squawked again, leaping back, narrowly avoiding the sweep of a boot. He dodged another, and another.

. . .

Michael's absolutely brain rattling squawking was doing well to convince Trevor to further his attempts to smash him.

"FUCK YOU MICHAEL, I SHOULD SHIT ON _YOU_. YOU KNOW WHAT? HOW 'BOUT I TAKE YOU HOME AND FUCKING _COOK_ YOU INSTEAD, HUH!? WOULD YOU LIKE THAT!? YOU FUCKING PEST!"

Trevor suddenly froze. Maybe if he did, Michael would- Ah! Yes! Michael froze too. They stared at one another, Michael's head twisting left and right. Trevor sucked in a few deep breaths. He was. NOT. Going to kill Mikey. That was his least favorite thing to do. Maybe. Who knows. Maybe it's his favoritest thing to do.

"Alright..." His voice dropped an octave. "Now. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. I'd rather not have to break your puny neck, Mikey."

The bird flinched as he dropped down to his knees. He hopped back as Trevor stretched out a hand. "Bite me again, and I will turn you into my fucking shit. Come here, Mikey. There's obviously been an accident... Of sorts. Whatever the fuck your fat ass ate... Has done quite the number on you."

His fingers curled back, slowly at first. Then more urgently as the bird just stood and stared. Was this the wrong fucking bird!? How'd they mix up so fast!? No. Naw. Couldn't be the wrong bird.

. . .

This guy wanted to eat him. Michael was Michael, last time he checked. Michael was not food. Food was not Michael. Wait a minute.

"Trevor!" He squawked. "Oh, I missed ya, buddy!" Took him a moment to recognize. Michael bounced towards him, hopping up onto his palm. The human stood, rolling his eyes in relief. 

"Well, bird brain, took ya long enough."

"Do not insult my bird brain, you turd. I love my bird brain." He puffed his feathers proudly.

"Shut the fuck up, aight? You're a fucking bird. How do we uh..."

Michael stared blankly. He squawked in Trevor's approaching face. It crumpled in fury.

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP! EEENOUGH. WITH THE SQUAWKING."

. . . . . .

Michael was a bird. Trevor didn't know how to fucking fix it.

"Make me a pirate, bird brain."

They both squawked and screamed as Michael dove for his eye. 

"NOT THAT KIND OF PIRATE, YOU STUPID FUCKING BIRD! GOD I SHOULD KILL YOU!" 

After a flurry of black feathers and squabbling, Michael settled down on Trevor's shoulder. Things were beginning to come back to Michael, as Trevor scoured the mountain for another plant. He gave up, quickly noticing Michael's growing silence.

. . . . . .

"What's wrong with you?" He asked the bird, hiking his way back to his Bodhi.

"If I'm... If I'm a bird, shouldn't I be dead?"

"What?"

"I am a forty-five year old bird, T."

"So- So what? Are you gonna have another mid-life crisis? Bird-style this time? You gonna go hide from your friends in some man-made birdhouse while your _best_ friend busts his ass building his own, authentic nest?"

"No! Dammit, T! I don't know... I guess I'm still a little funny in the head."

At that, Trevor snorted. He yanked his truck door open, took a seat inside and started her up. Michael clung to his shoulder the entire way back to Sandy Shores. Oh, man. What a day.


End file.
